The Housemaid’s Scandalous Secret

Another thought cast doubt. The Jamie he knew would have written to his family informing them of his intentions—could he really have been so blinded by his love for Alicia it had robbed him of all rational thought?

As soon as the Arbuthnots had left for Brighton, dressing simply and neatly in her most suitable gown and bonnet, Lisette presented herself at Mannering House in Bloomsbury. She was greeted at the door by a stiff-faced footman in dark green livery. On requesting to see the housekeeper he showed her into a glittering entry hall and told her to wait.

Feeling terribly nervous her gaze scanned the impressive hall. Never had she seen the like. This house surpassed her wildest imaginings. In magnificent splendour a marble staircase rose gracefully to the upper floors. A vase of sweet-smelling blooms beautifully matched and arranged had been placed on a side table beneath a huge gilt mirror. Folding her gloved hands at her waist, her body stiffened when, on looking up, she saw Colonel Montague.

She studied him as he slowly descended to the hall—his broad, muscular shoulders, deep chest and narrow waist—before lifting her eyes to his darkly handsome face. In a linen shirt, tight-fitting riding breeches and polished tan boots, every inch of Ross Montague’s tall frame positively radiated raw power, tough, implacable authority and leashed sensuality.

For what seemed an eternity, she stood perfectly still, existing in a state of jarring tension, struggling to appear completely calm, clinging to her composure as if it were a blanket she could use to insulate herself against this man who disturbed her like no other. His gaze was steadily fixed on her and on reaching the bottom of the stairs he paused and they stared at each other for a second, with several yards of marble hallway still between them.

She watched him in fascination as he approached her at a leisurely pace. Her heart skipped a beat. He was certainly the stuff of which young ladies’ dreams were made.

Looking down at her, Ross noted how tense she looked. Her beauty caught him like an unexpected blow to the chest. ‘Miss Lisette Napier. How very nice to see you again. You had no difficulty finding the house?’

Her eyes were alight with pleasure and she glanced around her. ‘Not at all. It is a wondrous house,’ she said softly. ‘You might have warned me.’

‘If you think this is grand, then wait until you see Castonbury Park. So you are here to take up your position as my sister’s maid?’

The deep, velvet tones of his cultured voice made her stomach flutter. ‘If I am considered suitable,’ she replied, giving a slight curtsey.

He smiled slowly. His guarded stare travelled over her, noting the gentle flush mantling her cheeks. He didn’t think he would have much persuading to do to make her succumb to his desire. The young beauty was not the expert that he was at hiding her feelings.

‘Since I am to be the man who pays your wages, Miss Napier, your interview with Mrs Whitelaw is a mere formality. It is my considered opinion that you will be perfect for the post.’ He lifted one eyebrow slightly after his words, as though challenging her to question them.

Lisette’s knees knocked beneath her skirts, threatening to give out as she faced Ross Montague in all his male magnetism. ‘I want to thank you again for thinking of me for the position,’ she murmured. ‘It was … generous of you.’

‘Generous?’ he echoed, both raven eyebrows arching high.

‘Yes.’ She nodded fervently. Something in his stare made her fingertips tingle. The tingle crept up her arms with sweet warmth into her chest. She ignored the odd sensation with a will, lowering her gaze. ‘I am extremely grateful. When Mrs Arbuthnot told me I would have to look for work elsewhere—and at such short notice—unaccustomed as I am to this huge metropolis, I confess I found the prospect of going from door to door seeking another situation extremely daunting.’ Colonel Montague shocked her when he touched her gently under her chin. She caught her breath sharply as he tilted her face upward again and looked into his eyes.

Her gratitude appeared to entertain him—his chiselled face softened considerably as he held her gaze. ‘I am happy to be of service, Miss Napier.’

Her heart pounded at the light but sure pressure of his warm fingertips against her skin.

He smiled and lowered his hand to his side. ‘The Arbuthnots have left for Brighton?’

‘Yes, this very day.’

‘And you have brought your luggage with you?’

‘Yes, sir, although I do not possess much, as you see,’ she answered, indicating her one bag by the door.

‘One of the footmen will see it is carried to your room.’

Lisette showed her surprise. ‘But I have not yet met your housekeeper. I have my reference …’

‘Which I have no doubt will give you an excellent character, but I prefer to judge for myself.’ A woman seemed to appear from nowhere. ‘Ah, here is Mrs Whitelaw. I’ll leave you in her capable hands.’

Ross entered the hallowed rooms of White’s, the gentleman’s club in St James’s, where he had arranged to meet his cousin, Lord Harry Montague. The rooms were cloaked in the quiet, restrained ambience, redolent of the masculine smells of sandalwood, leather and cigars.

He scanned the room, his gaze coming to rest on a tall, dramatically dark gentleman clothed in black. He stood watching the play at the hazard table. With no wish to join in, raising a brandy to his lips, the impression Harry gave off was of bored indifference. Lifting his head, the instant he saw his cousin, his handsome countenance lightened. The two strode towards each other and they met in the doorway to the card room, where they clasped arms, laughing.

‘Good to have you home, Ross,’ Harry said. ‘Back for good, are you?’

‘No—extended leave.’ Ross took Harry’s arm and led him to a table that offered privacy.

A worried shadow darkened Harry’s eyes as he seated himself across from Ross and thought about the strangely vague note asking him to meet his cousin here. After politely enquiring about the health of Araminta and their maternal aunt, Lady Grace Mannering, he sat back and waited for Ross to enlighten him as to the purpose of this meeting.

‘Glad to learn you made it back from Waterloo, Harry, but it was bad news about Edward,’ Ross said, ordering a couple of brandies.

The emotions Harry suffered over the death of his younger brother at Waterloo and carefully concealed from others were evident now in the tautness of his clenched jaw as he glanced at his cousin. ‘It is a tragedy felt by the whole family. It was one hell of a battle, but we finally got those bastards.’ Drinking deep of his brandy he looked at Ross. ‘Anything in particular you wanted to see me about? I got the feeling there was a sense of urgency about your note.’

Meeting Harry’s arrested stare, Ross hesitated and then he said gravely, ‘I’ve received a letter from Giles. He asked me to speak to you about Jamie.’

‘Jamie’s still listed as missing.’

‘I believe he disappeared when the army made the push for Toulouse. He wasn’t with the rest of them when they crossed the river. I understand he was swept away.’

‘Jamie is … was a strong swimmer.’

‘I imagine the current was too strong, Harry.’

‘It looks like it. You know how I always looked up to Jamie.’

‘I know. There is something else—a couple of things, in fact, that make it imperative that you go to Spain, to search for Jamie’s body, or at least learn what happened to him as quickly as possible.’ Harry gave him a questioning look when he hesitated, but waited patiently for him to go on. ‘The first concerns the Montague finances. Shortly before Waterloo your father gambled on Napoleon winning the war. He sold his government bonds and lost a substantial amount of money. He took out a loan which has to be repaid.’

Harry stared at him with something like incredulity and amazement. ‘Good Lord, I had no idea.’

‘You’ve been in Spain. How could you?’

This was true, but Harry remembered the terrible rumours that had ignited London when word reached the city that Wellington had lost the battle at Waterloo, causing panic in the financial markets and the stock exchange to crash. In their desperation, London stockholders had wanted out of their investments immediately, believing they would need the money to survive. The market panic was halted when news of Wellington’s victory at Waterloo arrived, but too late for the countless innocent people who had lost their life savings, and hundreds of reputable merchants and noble families had been ruined.

‘There are many outstanding debts,’ Ross went on. ‘The creditors are being held off for now, but the deadline for repayment draws ever closer. As you know Castonbury costs a ransom to run. As things stand, its income doesn’t match its expenses by a long way. The danger is that along with the contents of the house it will have to be mortgaged to pay off some of these debts.’

Harry’s skin whitened. He was clearly shaken by this. ‘Good Lord! As bad as that?’

‘According to Giles, it is. Your father’s grief at the loss of Edward and the situation with Jamie sent him into a decline, and the guilt he feels over his haste to sell off his shares is almost too painful for him to bear. As you know, when your mother died, as the firstborn and according to her marriage settlement, her immense fortune went to Jamie. Your father is banking on the money helping the family financially if proof can be found of Jamie’s death.’

‘Well, it will all go to Giles now. You said there were two things, Ross. You have told me the first. What is the second?’

‘A short time ago a letter was delivered to your father from an unknown woman. It was sent from Spain. The woman is called Alicia Montague. She claims to be Jamie’s widow.’

Ross waited through a long moment of awful suspense, knowing exactly where Harry’s thoughts would turn next. Finally, when he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion, as if the words were being gouged out of him.

‘What is known about her?’

‘On Giles’s request I have been to see her.’

‘What did you make out?’